


This Isn't a Code Red

by Calacious



Series: Ho oku i [23]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Inspired by Comment, Kind of humorous, M/M, Overprotective Steve, Sick Danny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 09:55:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7710634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calacious/pseuds/Calacious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Danny knows that something's wrong when he breaks out into a sweat while folding Steve's boxers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Isn't a Code Red

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rungirl60](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rungirl60/gifts).



> Inspired by this comment from rungrirl60, on, "Bless You, or What Not to Say When Your Partner Speaks German" -- "Only Steve would be on red alert from a non-sneeze:)"
> 
> I hope you don't mind me gifting this to you, and that it doesn't disappoint.
> 
> Please pardon errors.

Danny knows he's got a fever when he breaks out into a sweat while folding a pair of Steve's boxer briefs.

They're the tight fitting black ones that hug Steve's ass like a second skin, but that's not the reason for the sweat beading Danny's brow. Not this time anyway.

No, the reason behind him building up a sweat over folding Steve's laundry isn't sexy at all. As a matter of fact, Danny's fairly certain that the reason for his fever falls along the lines of anti-sexy.

His chest's tight. It's hard to breathe. Has been for a few days now, but he'd thought that it was going to clear up.

It hasn't.

Instead, it's gotten worse.

And now, he's standing in the laundry room, a pair of Steve's boxer briefs, neatly folded (just the way that Steve likes them) dangling from his fingertips, and he feels like he's run a mile, at noon, in the desert.

He eyes the rest of the laundry with trepidation. If folding a single pair of his lover's undies is this much of an effort, then getting through the rest of the basket of clothing is going to be torture. Especially when it comes to folding the sweatshirt that Steve likes to wear on his runs so that he works up a good sweat.

Danny has a feeling that he's going to be the one working up a good sweat over Steve's sweatshirt this time. It's too big for his partner, and thick, and rather cumbersome to fold, and Danny buries his face into it when he plucks it out of the basket, breathes deeply, because not even the best laundry detergent can fully erase Steve's strong scent, which is fine by Danny. It's a comfort. A strange comfort, and one that makes Danny push the sweatshirt as far away from his face as possible as he folds it, and wipes the sweat off his face with a shaky hand.

Danny smothers a quick succession of sneezes in a pair of his own boxers. Head pounding in rhythm with his heart, Danny tosses his boxers in the direction of the washer. Misses. Steve will have a fit. Danny doesn't care.

Another round of sneezing has Danny clutching at his chest, which feels like an anvil is pressing down on it, and, though it's hard to hear above the beating of his heart, Danny hears the telltale sound of Steve's footsteps.

Normally, they're ninja soft, and Danny has to strain to hear them, but now they're thundering down the stairs, and up the hall, toward where Danny's sneezing into one of his work shirts. It's a striped one. Steve hates it, which is why Danny's kept it around. That, and it was a gift from Kono.

"Shit." Danny wheezes, and closes his eyes against a sudden wave of dizziness.

_Folding laundry should not be this strenuous, or exhausting,_ he thinks. _Even if half of it is Steve’s, and the man is a sexy beast._

It feels like he's run a marathon, and, though Steve's body heat adds to the uncomfortable warmth that seems to have consumed him whole, Danny relaxes into his partner's hold when Steve comes up behind him and wraps his arms around him. Danny's back is against Steve's chest, and he can hear his partner's heart beating steadily, racing just a little as Steve's hands begin to asses him.

"You've got a fever," Steve says, lips brushing against Danny's ear, making him shiver.

Danny's, 'No shit, Sherlock,' is superseded by a series of sneezes that leaves Danny feeling wasted, which is the only reason he doesn't protest when Steve manhandles him from the laundry room, down the hallway, up the stairs, and to their room.

"Caveman," he does manage to mutter around a sneeze.

Steve ignores him in favor of stripping Danny down to his boxers; like Danny's a noodle-limbed child, and shoving him down into the bed.

Danny has a number of comebacks on the tip of his tongue, but none of them find a  voice, which is probably just as well, given that Steve's looking at him with a mixture of terror and worry and love.

"Stay here, I'm going to go get some juice, and cold medicine," Steve says, voice overly serious for the situation at hand.

Danny grabs Steve's wrist, stopping him from leaving, pulls him down to the bed, and rubs a thumb along the inside of Steve's wrist. He feels like shit, yes, and he's sweating like Steve after a five mile run in his sweatsuit, but, in a couple of days, he'll be fine.

"Relax," Danny says, and he fights off another sneeze, swallows a cough that's building up. "I've got a cold, Steven. You can call off the red alert, babe."

Steve takes a deep breath, nods, but doesn't meet Danny's gaze until Danny squeezes his wrist. Steve's eyes are filled with worry, and fear, and it's a little unsettling how much a simple cold is getting to him.

"I love you." It sounds like a confession from a dying man coming from Steve right now, voice tight, and strained. "I love you, and...I don't want to lose you."

Danny smiles, presses his lips to the inside of Steve's wrist and holds in a sneeze. "I love you, too, you goof. I'd love some juice, and that over the counter stuff I got for Grace a while back should work just fine. It's just a cold. Promise."

"But it's cherry flavor, and you hate cherry," Steve says, a pout marring his handsome features.

Danny laughs, and sneezes, and closes his eyes, because keeping them open is too much work right now.

"Nurse me back to health, Florence," Danny murmurs, and laughs when Steve thumps him on the chest.

"Just for that, cherry it is," Steve says, but he presses a kiss to Danny's forehead, and extricates himself from Danny's side, and leaves the room with a soft, "I love you."

Danny's head feels muzzy, and his chest is still tight, but he almost feels better, knowing that Steve is there for him, even in sickness.

 


End file.
